


The Doctor in the Kitchen

by lettalady



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine waking up one morning and walking into the kitchen to find The Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor in the Kitchen

Your alarm jolts you from the dream with brutal finality. There would be no turning over and drifting back to sleep. Why had you set your alarm? It is the weekend for God’s sake. You seek out the little device beside your bed to render the room silent again.  

Resigned to getting up, you toss the sheets aside and pull yourself from the comfort of your mattress.

“Too. Early.”  You stop your grumbling when you hear the familiar noises of your coffee maker chugging away in the kitchen. You’d both set your alarm and programmed the machine to brew? Where was your head last night? Oh but that smell – caffeine would make this early morning bearable. It smells so good you can nearly taste it.

You are met in the kitchen by a man shoving a mug, a hot mug at that, into your hands. But your machine is still chugging away, only just starting to drip out the lovely dark liquid. Where had the coffee in your mug come from? Where did _he_ come from? How much damage would come to him if you tossed this mug at him and ran?

He holds up an ident card. _The Doctor._ And in tiny subscript at the bottom of the page you catch… _Who is very cross that you’re tardy, so drink up._ You put the mug to your lips to take a sip and blink, trying to focus on the page again but the words have changed: _The Doctor. Traveler without boundaries. Who doesn’t mind the stain._

Without boundaries is certainly right. He’s made himself quite at home in your kitchen. A long brown jacket you assume must be his is tossed over one of your chairs and he’s spread the paper out across the kitchen table.

But what was that about a stain?

The Doctor is talking a mile a minute and it takes you a second to catch up. “Milk. No sugar. That bloody machine was taking too long so I popped over to – well – it doesn’t much matter where – well – it won’t matter yet –”

Exasperated, you interrupt him. “What stain?”

“– Well it will but it won’t – well it will – oh and it’s brilliant. You’ll love it. And tell me I am really clever.”

Is he being cheeky? It’s too early in the morning for cheeky.  

“Not a big ego at all, there. But, what stain?!” You laugh and ask again, this time reaching out try to get his attention. The action sloshes some of your coffee from your mug onto his dark blue suit.

This, at least, gives him pause. He looks down to examine where the coffee had splashed him – hardly noticeable against the deep shade of blue – before grinning up at you, “ _That_ stain.” He tilts his head. “So – Allons-y?”

You repeat him, “Allons-y?”

“Yes. It’s French. It means—“

“I know what it means.” You look pointedly at your own attire. You’ve no intention of going anywhere in your pajamas with this man – The Doctor. What kind of name is that? “Go where exactly?”

He hasn’t stopped grinning. If anything he’s looking even more pleased with himself. “Grumpy and needing a change of clothes. Right. Don’t worry. Everything’s sorted. In fact, just bring the mug.” He pauses to scoop up his jacket before exiting the kitchen.

You’ve already started to follow him. “What do you mean everything’s sorted?”

He’s still talking. Of course he’s still talking. Does he ever _stop_ talking? “I can’t wait to see your face. You’ll owe me five quid. No – ten. No, no it was five. Will be five. Difficult thing, tenses. Well – never mind that. Next stop – adventure!”

You pause in the hallway, finally catching yourself. It’s his confident manner and rapid-fire speech; by the time your brain has caught up to the fact that you’ve agreed to something it’s already ten minutes too late to do anything but go along with it. “Wait. No – I’ve got – things… things to do today.”

“Ehhhh – things. You’ll be back in time for things. You’re the one that wanted to go, made me promise.”

He’s still walking confidently towards the front – THAT most certainly isn’t your front door. How did he get that overly large blue – does that say _Police Call Box_ – through the door? And now, resulting from the location of the blue structure, how are you going to get out of the house?

He snaps his fingers and spins back to face you. You’re distracted by the door that is revealed – swinging open into the blue box. He stalks back to the kitchen while muttering to himself. You head in the opposite direction, towards the curious blue box. “Oh it was staring me right in the face! Something’s off!”

He is even more impatient to leave now and shoos you into the box – the expansive interior of the box… _how???_ He barely pauses to shut the door again before striding down the walkway, and towards what appears to be a massive console of levers and buttons. He immediately begins to fiddle with the mechanisms, all the while he’s muttering, “Very good Doctor – show up and waffle on about beverages.”

Beverages. You’re still holding your coffee mug. You take another sip – it’s lukewarm at best now. And what are those noises you’re hearing? The entire room lurches causing you to stumble into the console. You drop the mug and grab a lever for support. Now there is ringing.

The Doctor looks up sharply at you. “Oh. Oh you shouldn’t have done that. Now we’ll end up —-“

Your alarm jolts you from the dream with brutal finality. There would be no turning over and drifting back to sleep. Why had you set your alarm? It is the weekend for God’s sake. You seek out the little device beside your bed to render the room silent again. 


End file.
